Faded
by freeze1
Summary: Cho has never been close with Narcissa, but isn't ready to give up on her mother-in-law just yet. Set years after Deathly Hallows, Draco/Cho.


Cho curled long legs beneath her, snuggling into the red comforter she had snatched from the bed – much to the annoyance of a sleeping Draco – and spread several dusty photo albums across her lap. They were worn, crinkling noisily with the slightest movement, and buried beneath layers of faded lace and red satin. She smiled, tracing the spine of one book delicately, afraid that any further contact would break it in two. These albums were so different from the myriad of plain blue books she kept in the bedroom, filled with images of a sullen Draco who refused to stay in the frame long enough to be admired properly. Narcissa Malfoy never took such frivolous pictures. Narcissa Malfoy bought her photo albums from bridal stores alone.

Cho opened the first volume slowly, watching the various witches and wizards inside shielded their eyes from the sudden light. She heard a few thumps on the floor, and glanced up to see Draco frowning at her, golden-white hair pointing in all directions and clad in only a t-shirt, boxers, and a pair of wooly brown socks.

"I was sleeping," he explained after a long pause, blinking hard and looking as though he was having difficulty producing even so simple a sentence.

"Go back to bed, dear," Cho instructed, flipping through another page of the book. One rather ugly witch gave her a rather rude gesture in response.

"That's the thing," Draco drawled, shifting weight from one foot to the other. "It happens to be ten below outside, and all the heat in this bloody flat couldn't warm milk. So, if you would kindly put those…frilly things away and drag your sorry arse back to bed, I won't have to kill you."

Cho laughed quietly, turning another page. "I left all the other blankets, you should be fine. It's not my fault you're so picky about the comforter."

"I am not picky!"

"Yes, dear."

Draco, who was very capable of coming up with clever responses when awake and at a reasonable temperature, settled on a glare.

"You don't have to get her anything," he said abruptly. "She's not going to like anything you get her, so don't bother."

Cho should have been less surprised that he knew what she was doing. After all, he had obviously seen the photo albums, he had been there when she had taken them, along with various other things, from the Malfoy Manor after the Ministry claimed ownership of it. Yet, it was hard to imagine that such a disgruntled, sleepy man could be so perceptive.

"It's her birthday," she reminded him, knowing very well that he did not need reminding. "Her first birthday after repurchasing the Manor, and she's alone. We can't just ignore that."

"I can," he scowled, and while Draco was often scowling, this one was deeper, colder. It was the same scowl he wore whenever his late father was mentioned.

"Well, I can't," she replied, clutching the lavish book tightly beneath the comforter. "She's family, Draco."

The scowl deepened, and she could tell that he was trying to restrain himself from yelling. She knew she had hit a sore spot, she knew long before the words tumbled out of her mouth the way he would react. She didn't blame him, really. Once, a month or two before their wedding, they had sat on that very couch and she had told him about her mother who baked the best cookies in the world. Her mother would make sure to give one to Cho's father, all of Cho's friends, and leave another for Cho's stuffed monkey Robert, bewitched to scratch himself repetitively. Draco had sat through her story politely, and after a long series of prompts into his childhood life, had replied that future death eaters are generally given live snakes to play with, and snakes are far more fond of mice than cookies. She hadn't known what to say.

"She's not your family," he said, scratching the base of his neck quickly. "She doesn't think of it that way, at least. Besides, you hate her."

She drummed pained nails across the edge of the album. "Hate is a strong word."

"Fine, you severely dislike her, then. Stop with all the present-hunting and come back to bed so that I can get some bloody sleep, will you?"

He turned, marching back towards the bedroom, and she laughed and called out after him: "You don't care if I come back, so long as you get that comforter, eh?"

"Of course!" He shouted, but she saw him grab another quilt from the folded pile beside the bathroom. He knew she wouldn't be sleeping anytime soon.

And, although she knew she was probably making a mess of things, probably infuriating her husband beyond what he would openly admit to, she couldn't seem to stop herself.

The Manor, despite its enormous size and exquisite architecture, looked old. It seemed sacrilegious to look upon it this way, a formerly immaculate, polished castle reduced to a tumble of creaking shutters and scratched stone. No where near the point of collapse, the building still stood strong, sturdy, yet to the trained eye noticeably less elegant than before. It looked…worn.

Cho felt an odd lump in her throat, and silently wished that the house would just collapse upon itself right then and there, with her standing on the small brick pathway to see it. She wasn't quite sure of why.

She led the way to the door, clutching the gift tightly beneath her arm. Draco lagged behind in silence, pausing every so often to dig the toe of his shoe into the lawn, a deep frown on his face. She had asked that he wear formal robes, and after a good half hour of arguing he had complied, but not before making it clear that their formal wear would be incomparable to typical Malfoy standards. Cho didn't need to be told twice, Kings and Queens were often ruled incomparable to Malfoy standards.

She rang the bell with determination, and counted twelve claps of high-heels hitting wood before Narcissa opened the door. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, so tight that it stretched pale-white skin awkwardly over angular bones, and in the year since Cho last saw her, she appeared to have aged a decade. Narcissa glanced sharply between her son and daughter-in-law, before finally resting her eyes on the empty space between them, as though unable to bear focusing too long on either.

"Come in."

Cho followed her inside, knowing very well that her "mother" would have killed for her to leave. Cho followed her into the fancy sitting room, careful to sit on the least-valuable piece of furniture, the chair encrusted with the fewest diamonds. Draco did not sit, choosing instead to perch himself near the doorway, staring dully at the grandfather clock beside the mantle.

"We brought you something," Cho said evenly, straining to keep her voice steady, deliberate and sounding self-assured. She recalled her first formal meeting with Narcissa, how her knees had trembled and her eyes had watered uncontrollably. Over time, perhaps, she would no longer be terrified of those hawk-like eyes and slender, skeletal fingers.

Narcissa raised one graceful eyebrow. "That was not necessary."

Inhale. Exhale.

"It's for your birthday." Cho took the parcel and lifted it across the valley between them, watching as Narcissa stiffened, then reached out quickly to accept it.

"Thank you," she said as politely as possible, "Draco." From his corner, Draco stopped himself from snorting.

"I had nothing to do with it," he explained, his voice high and sharp. If Cho didn't know better, she could have sworn she saw Narcissa flinch. With one graceful swoop of her wand, the wrapping paper disappeared in a mist of pink and left a small, gold-plated picture frame on her lap. Narcissa looked skeptically at the gift at first, before peering closer. Her eyes widened ever-so-slightly in recognition.

"I've put a charm on it," Cho explained hesitantly. "You can shrink it or enlarge it as much as you like without disrupting the picture quality." Narcissa didn't appear to hear her. She stared so hard at the gift, a rare wrinkle spread across her forehead. From her seat, Cho could see the figures in the picture moving around, waving and smiling rigidly. Baby Draco was nestled in his father's arms, a rare embrace, and Lucius had his hands around a striking Narcissa, who widened blood-red lips into a hauntingly beautiful smile. Behind them stood the Manor, and had one not known that the mansion had been in the family for generations, one would have assumed the young family was moving in for the first time.

"Have you seen this, Draco?" Narcissa asked finally, running one willowy finger along the side of a smiling Lucius' face. Her voice trembled.

"Yes," he answered, sounding small.

Narcissa looked up, blinked her beady eyes and exhaled quickly in preparation before looking at Cho squarely.

"This frame clashes," she explained in short, clipped words. She didn't say with what.

"I could change it for you, if you like?" Cho replied.

In one truly frightening moment, Narcissa looked just about ready to cry. She clutched her black dress tight beneath her fingers, and for an instant her mask faded, lips quivering.

"Fine, then."

For a brief moment, Cho catches Draco's eye in the gold-framed mirror above the bookshelf and manages a quick smile. He does not return it, barely even holds her gaze, but she sees his fingers tighten along the mantle, notes the clenched muscles in his jaw. A thank you from a Malfoy is a rare thing, seldom coherent and typically buried in spite, but she has learned the signs well enough by now. Ever so slightly, her smile grows.


End file.
